Dripping Energon
by yiggersentia
Summary: What happens when Bee turns to a human method of trying to cope with his guilt. Warning! Adult themes and dark subject matter. Part of another story that was just too interesting to keep hidden away.


Ok, everyone! **WARNING! This is just a dangerous mix here. It is NOTHING like my normal light hearted humor. This entire piece is about death and adult situations in general. If you feel you can't handle this, please don't read!**

This is actually a part of a larger story I'm working on, but something struck me about this little tidbit that I wanted to post.

Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one. I only borrow them to play. I make no money from this.

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"Ahh...AHHHH..nnghh...GUH!" Bees optics -eyes- rolled back in his head as his holoform tried to form coherent words around the thick, drowning sensations he was immersed in. The process eased up enough for him to take a single deep breath before clenching down on him hard enough to lock his esophagus in reaction. His mech form ground metal on metal to thrash weakly as his holoform writhed on the floor unable to escape the torture.

He didn't want it to stop.

_Primus! Don't stopdontstopdontstop..._

What was happening to him? How did he...

"AAHHHHH!" This time the holoform wailed to an echo of his mech forms high pitched, if weak, audio feedback.

How long has this been going on? How did this even start? He couldn't remember...

"Uh-uh... uh oh, little Bee. I can tell your mind is... wandering." The waves of sound from that voice of thick oil spread sensation as surely as any touch. It was as familiar as his own form. _Who...?_

"Am I losing your attention that easily, little Bee?" He could almost hear the pout in her voice. Dark waves of hair bracketed his vision as the engulfing softness rolled forward slowly. The vibrations of warm air and sound caused a barrage of shivers and involuntary spasms of muscle all the way up his torso as the sweet torturer moved into his line of sight.

"Do I bore you, little Bee?" His eyes adjusted to view the shadowed countenance.

No. This wasn't happening! What was this? What was making him lose control like this? All his mind could produce was denial... and _craving_...

She leaned over him, face to face, nearly touching. Her breath blew eddies over his skin, over his lips, making more of the thin substance than mere air. It felt like liquid mercury and tasted of mint and wood smoke, something earthy and pure. Pulling back, she paused for long enough to flash a wicked grin. She gave a slow wink, making it something far more sensuous than the saucy act he was used to. This close her Eyelashes seemed impossibly long. Her intake of breath brought her close enough to feel those lashes flutter against his skin over and over like an insistent torture.

"Do you want me to stop, little Bee? I can stop, you know." In an almost feline movement, she swept her tongue from his chin up his jaw line ending with a bite on his earlobe, pausing just this sign on pain.

"Nnn..nnn...nnnooo! De...d d dear P Primus, n n no! Don't stop! Please! Pleas...GAH!"

That wonderful tightness suddenly became a counterpoint to the intense burning agony in his side where those soft hands of hers suddenly became five points of agony digging into his skin. Desperately twitching and unable to move away he clawed ineffectually at the floor before resorting to almost involuntary soft blows open handed against the solid surface.

He could think past this. He COULD think past…this…

"AAAAHHHH!"

Her nails dug impossibly deep into his holoforms skin. Rivulets of blood… or was that Energon? Was he injuring his own form in reaction?

He didn't have time to assess that thought before she began to pull. She raked her nails down his belly like she could slice him open, like she had claws, but the skin didn't part that easily. The skin tore in jerks and short ragged lines. No weld lines to give way. He fought not to move while his hands scrabbled.

He clenched his jaw in pain. This is right. This is what he deserved. But through it all he kept registering that Primus-blessed sensation of bliss on his lower half.

How was she doing that? He forced his eyes open long enough to see her soft white seamless curves as she arched back in ecstasy or agony.

The appearance was so close at this point that he wondered how any human could tell the difference.

She had a soft nimbus of light around her pale skin with her hair flung back, dark wings to lift her to the heavens. He understood, in that moment, the humans' concept of angels.

She was an angel…

…and he keened through clenched teeth at what he had nearly done.

He'd nearly killed her. Every drop of his blood, of his energon spilt, tried to leech away this sin. He welcomed the bleeding. Losing the vision before him to the inside of his eyelids, another onslaught of pain and bliss washed over him.

He tried to concentrate on the agony. He welcomed the torture, but then...

... then… she moved.

She moved and the agony was washed away to a bearable level by the sensation of heaven down below. No. He didn't deserve this… but the angel thought he did.

This sweet, blessed messenger of Primus wouldn't let the one sensation overwhelm the other. The torture was sweetened like dripping high grade energon into unrefined oil. His systems began to overload at once and as he cried out, he heard another note join in.

…and this is what they meant by Angels singing. He'd never before heard a sound so plaintive, so sweet.

Her voice brought comfort and forgiveness an exultation of life all at once before collapsing onto his chest.

He felt her pant, her tiny movements of breath playing over his sensitive skin for a few moments before stopping. It took the lack of sensation a moment to register before lifting his head in alarm and reaching up to touch her. He first noticed with puzzlement that the hand he moved was his own mechanical one. He must be losing time somewhere. How did he get back in his own form? Looking down he noticed her still lying there on his metal chest, hair spread out like puddles of black oil outlined by the red of human blood. Fear stopped his intakes. He brushed against her cheek hoping for a reaction, any reaction, and sighed in relief as she weakly picked her head up to face him. Her skin has kept the pallor, but lost its luminance. Tear stains ran down both cheeks as she smiled a soft sad smile. Is this how humans reacted in this type of situation? The blood kept ripping down across his chest plating but she drew his attention back before he could understand why.

"Did it help? Do you feel better?"

His vocals choked. All he could do was nod, hesitant at first, then more vigorously as he attempted to speak and was unable to. Her forgiveness meant so much to him and he was at a loss as to how to tell her, but then she smiled. Her eyes got a little brighter and he just knew that she understood without words.

"That's good…" She sounded so young. "It's too bad I was never meant for you…" her smile faded, just a little. "I'm glad I could help though…" Her eyes got even brighter as if he were seeing them through a thin layer of glass. Her warmth seemed to envelope him covering far more than it should. The mental comfort gave way to physical sensation and the hot embrace turned to trails of cold across his chest plating.

His entire system froze.

All he could do was watch as she dropped her head down again letting her hair spill over to reveal her body.

Blood was everywhere, coating her torso like a satin sheet.

All he could do was widen his optics in shock as he saw her hands. Her beautiful hands… shredded like she had been trying to claw her way through steel walls.

_Steel walls…_

What had he done?

Unable to do anything, he felt her body go slack…

…and looked up directly into the optics of Optimus.

Where did he come from? Did it matter? He could help!

"Prime! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Help! Please! We have to do something!"

"What are you sorry for, Bumblebee?"

Why was he not moving to help?

"This was her choice…" Optimus looked down from the empty background above at the girl lying there lifeless. His optics dimmed for a moment in sympathy and something he couldn't identify, didn't want to identify, afraid his next glance would hold condemnation.

Optimus reached over to her and brushed her hair back from her face, lovingly rearranging it to cover the carnage as if he couldn't stand to see her so… exposed. Slowly, his focus shifted back to Bumblebee. Bee stared back, but the sadness in the eyes of his beloved leader was nearly too much to bear.

"You know I can't let her travel alone Bumblebee."

"You're right, Sir." THIS is what he was meant to do. He had to protect her. This is what it would take to atone.

"Many of the humans believe that there's another existence life after death."

Death. It sounds so final.

"They have a soul, a human spark that moves on without restriction from their bodies."

He couldn't believe this wonderful human had simply ceased to exist. It was much easier to think of her as evolving.

That's it. She evolved, much like the butterfly.

"Many people believe they had an entire underworld to traverse to reach their destination."

Her physical shell was too weak to hold her.

"I do not know…"

It simply needed room to expand…

"… what her beliefs were…"

_Were? No! Are! She's still here… still here!_

"… but I gave my word that she would be kept safe…"

_Yes! She was just waiting for him to protect her. He just needed to follow her example!  
_  
"… and I intend to keep it."

He just had to follow…

"I can't let her be hurt while still in my care. You understand that, right?"

Yes, of course I understand Optimus. You don't even need to speak the words. I don't even need to speak the words. This has become my responsibility as well as yours. I know I need to do is the right thing.

Optimus stood up to tower of the small mech. A moment of comprehension dawned. He was leading and making sure he understood that Bee had to come to the conclusion himself! All these words left unspoken between them. The insight was a relief. He knew without words that Prime would not stop him from doing what was right. This was a burden that, for once, Prime couldn't take from his men.

This was it.

One thought suddenly overwhelmed his processors.

He brought his hand to his head in a final salute to the greatest leader the Autobots had ever seen.

A moment of clarity gave him a clear realization on a path to reach his goal.

… this is my final duty…

He altered his expression into a semblance of a smile. This nod to humanity was his only acknowledgment as to the understanding of the intent behind Primes words.

… I've brought this on entirely on myself…

He abruptly pushed his hand down into his spark casing, hoping to make his 'death' as swift and certain as possible.

…and I welcome it.

He pressed down, crushing his casing and savoring the sharp twitches of pain telling him he was closer to his goal. Time slowed to a crawl. He seemed to have an eternity to accomplish this, but not the tolerance. One last flare of his spark as it was extinguished showed the horrified visage of Optimus reaching towards him. Did I somehow misinterpret? What could he have meant then?

...but the thought was swept away along with his auditory sensor functions and visual readings.

He... waited...

_Cool._

_Quiet._

_Smooth._

_Hush.._.

...a roar grew in the background. Before he could process it, he was assaulted with input. Pain laced through his circuits as they all overloaded from the new onslaught of torment.

_So this is their hell...  
_

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Bee bolted upright, his spark guttering in panic. The feel of hot blood was still overwhelmingly viscous against his plating.

No. His CPU had to be failing.

He was losing his mind.

It didn't happen…

It COULDN'T have happened…

Slamming a hand against the wall next to the familiar recharge booth illuminated the room, first with the harsh strike of metal sparks and then when the fluorescent panels activated overhead. Running a quick diagnostic showed that everything appeared to be in working order. He had to admit that there really was a downside to this human way of dreaming. The worst part about it was trying to define it. He understood now why humans spent entire lifetimes trying to interpret them. Was this even a dream? Somehow he could see the appeal, but this dream... this dream fit neatly into the realm of what Sam referred to as a nightmare.

That did not explain why he could not bring himself to delete this from his memory...

...nor could it explain why he wanted to attempt it again.


End file.
